Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Weekly Wrap-Up

Yeah, I know.  Today's Tuesday.  Not exactly the time of week that calls for a wrap-up.  But my life is such that my only real schedule is my husband's work schedule.  It is a rotating shift kind of schedule, and, after almost 5 years together, I am only just now getting the hang of it.

What I am saying is that 'Tuesday' means very little to me.  A lot has happened this week, and I felt like wrapping it up.  So here we go.

First off, it is almost Valentine's Day.

It's going to be a weird Valentine's for me, and I really don't know why, or what to say about it.  Things are . . . strained. . . with Michael right now.  (This is largely my fault, and I accept that.)  I have picked up smoking again, after several weeks without it, and he is mad.  So before the anti-smoking people pipe up about it, I am fully aware of how awful it is.  But it is what I turn to for comfort, when I am feeling stressed, and honestly I don't see it as *that* big of a deal.  But he does.  He gets angry, asks me why I don't just STOP, and I sit there and wonder why he can't just accept me for who I am, and realize that I have good qualities, too.  He is quite a wonderful man, in most respects.  However, I have to wonder how he can continually put his disappointment into words every time I walk outside to smoke.  We lay down to go to sleep at night, we are on good terms, all is fine.  We wake up the next morning, and I walk out back, and he's mad all over again.

This just confuses the hell out of me.  We are on opposite sides of the fence on this one (he on the 'right' side, while I of course fill up space on the 'wrong' one), and it stresses me out.  And you know what I want to do when I'm feeling stressed?  . . .

You betcha.

Moving on.

Since the big V-day IS upon us, and Michael and I have traditionally tried to mark it with homemade Valentine's, and as I am completely without monetary means, I decided a few days ago that I would paint him something for his Valentine.  . . . It was not a good experience.  In a moment of extreme confidence and horrifying hubris, I took one of the photos off of our nightstand, and spent the afternoon trying to recreate it with pencil and paint. 

The results were. . .  Laughable?  Crude?  Really, really, awful and sad?

Just pick one, they all work.

So anyway, THIS is the picture I tried to use:

And THIS is the unholy result:

Now, I know that they say that you're often your OWN biggest critic. . . but I really have to feel that I'm spot-on on this one. 


If this were a valentine that *I* received?  I would probably either consider it an insult, or a thinly veiled threat.  But at the very least, I feel that I have disproven that old adage of "anything that comes from the heart is beautiful."  And so I feel that I have salvaged this fiasco in some small way, in that at the very least I have provided a public service.

Anything that comes from the heart is only beautiful if you have talent.


Michael, the baby, and I went shopping for underwears,  and kittens.

First stop was Target, and I am not at all ashamed to say that our entire family now owns a collection of snug, junk-holding clothing that should last them until some time next year.  Depending on wear and tear.  You know.

Then, in a momentary lapse of judgement (and what I now think of as a descent straight into madness), we went to a local vet to browse their kitten selection.

It was to be a Valentine gift.  A new kitten.  A new expression of love.  A new entity to share our hearts and our home.

What the hell kind of drugs were we ON??

So we walk into the clinic, and with an announcement of "We've come for your kittens," they led us into an exam room and quickly ushered in two adorable little balls of fur and claws.

They were sisters, two little stripey kitties, and they were about six weeks old.  They did not APPEAR to be defective in any way.

But then, I *appear* to be normal.

Looks can be deceiving.

So with one misplaced comment to Michael of "Oh, it's going to be so sad to leave one here alone," as were trying to make a decision on which one to take, we almost accidentally went back to the truck with a box carrying TWO new kitties.

Again, I have to wonder if someone spiked our breakfasts that morning with some REALLY potent mushrooms. . .

But we brought them home, and old Ash Ferley-cat has still not quite forgiven us for it.

I will say, in the kittens' defense, that they have made themselves QUITE at home, fearing neither Ash Ferley nor the baby, nor apparently even my great wrath.

Because one of them is trying desperately to mark the space behind our bedroom armoire as her litter box.

And I say "one of them," but we know which one it is.  In keeping with my history of being a complete and notorious fuck-up, the Masked Pooper is of course the one that I have chosen as 'mine.'  (You can tell them apart because one has a dot on her head.  Michael is claiming her, and naming her Waylon.  I have taken to the other, and she is to be called Wednesday.)

So yesterday, in a flurry of hopefulness, Michael purchased some Boundary spray, and we have soaked the area in question.

But Wednesday is wily, and will certainly find a way around it.  (Gotta say, I respect that.)  And so they are being sequestered in our bathroom for the time being.

And so we have learned that kittens really *are* the gift that keeps on giving.

In other news, I toured our local YMCA yesterday.

I have begun to feel more voluptuous than I am personally comfortable with of late, and as it is still too cold and rainy to take the baby on our daily walks, I've decided that I guess I'm going to have to start going to the Y.  So I went yesterday, just to have a look around. 

Okay, fine.  I went to size them up, and get a feel for the place.

My first impressions were. . . uncomplimentary.

But I am exceedingly odd about some things, and so I am NOT attempting to slight the organization in any way.

It was probably just me.

For example, I came to learn very quickly that all the painted concrete blocks make me feel VERY claustrophobic. 

Also, I can't help but feel that they were trying to hide something.

Sadly, "So what's up with all the concrete?  Got something to hide?" was NOT a question that I felt comfortable posing to either of the little old ladies working the front desk.

Not to press a point, but I also found THIS to be highly suspicious.  It was just a little too convenient for my tastes. . .  Oh, little old sweet-smelling ladies working the front door?  Well nothing bad could POSSIBLY happen here, right?


I'm on to you.  And when I am there to work out, I will ALSO be listening for muffled screams.  When I head to the ladies locker room, I will ALSO be looking for doors leading to secret torture chambers.


. . .

Anyway, the worst part was the kids' room.

(The preschool kids' room.  Perhaps the other kids rooms are fine.  I don't know.  That wasn't a part of my tour.)

What I DID see was a children's room much like any other. . . reeking of tears and desperation and snacks, furnished with colorful rugs that have soaked up untold amounts of fear-urine, and situated behind a large, chest-high door.  You know, so the kids can't escape. 

To go back to the families that have abandoned them. 

Or to start a new life on the lam.  I don't know.  I just know it was scary.

. . .I feel compelled to add that Michael has said that I greatly exaggerated this last bit. 

To which I replied that he was emotionally dead inside.

Once again, we are at an impasse.

Which leads me to my next point:  I believe I might be an empath.

It is something that I have long suspected.  Luckily for me, the internet is just chocked FULL of information on the subject.

Unluckily for me, so far I have been unable to separate the pearls of truth from the people that just seem to think they have super powers.

. . .

But once again the internet worked its special dark magic, and provided me with a helpful little test.

1.)  You get overwhelmed in situations where there are many people around.

Yes.  Yes, I totally do that.

2.)  You feel drained after being around certain people for too long.

Not gonna name names, but yes.  Completely.

3.)  You feel physically or emotionally ill when seeing violent
images in movies or on TV.

Check.  Some commercials destroy me.  Not in a passive, oh-that's-just-so-sad kind of way. . . it HURTS.

4.)  You can influence the moods of those around you.

I don't know. . . .How do YOU feel right now?

Anyway, beyond all the supposed sorcery and self-importance, I really learned a couple of helpful things:

---I am greatly influenced by how other people are feeling and thinking.  Even if they don't say anything about it.  For me personally, it makes a LOT of sense.  In that I've been walking around my entire life like an emotional sponge, flowing up and down on currents that I don't understand, and that often aren't even of my own design.

---It's not a magical power.  Everybody does it.  Some are just more sensitive to it than others.

---I can learn how to block some of it, so I'm not constantly caught up in emotional whims, and literally aching to make others happy.  (So that *I* can be happy.)

Useful stuff.

Also, I can summon the wind.

. . .

Just kidding.  If I could do that, TRUST ME, you'd hear about it on the news, NOT just on this blog.

So to wrap up:

My family has new underwear, Michael is not pleased with me, and I do not foresee large amounts of chocolate candies in my future.

Very sad.

We have two new kittens in the house, one of whom is very badly behaved, but largely likeable.  We should probably make it into a reality show to see who gets to stay.  At the end of every episode, I could tour the house looking for poos, and then give a rose to the kitty that has been the best.  Pretty sure SOME animal rights group would have a problem with that, but really--- who doesn't like to get flowers?

I'm totally on to our local Y.  I'm in complete Nancy Drew mode.  It's really only a matter of time.

I'm not going to say I AM Jean Grey. . .

. . .but it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to keep an eye on the news.

These powers are new to me.

Things happen.


1 comment:

  1. OMG, I love your blogs!! And I totally feel ya on the smoking thing. You are NOT alone on that one.